


The Road: Alternative Ending

by AlexHurst



Category: The Road - Cormac McCarthy
Genre: Cormac McCarthy, the Road
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 14:57:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2625944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexHurst/pseuds/AlexHurst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my alternative ending to The Road. I had to write this piece for my English coursework. I hope you enjoy it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road: Alternative Ending

He was no different than us.

He was a lot different to us.

He was hungry and we’re hungry, which made us the same.

They pushed the cart to the end of the road. It made a sharp turn to the right and continued into the lifeless landscape. The hanging trees casted a shadow over their path turning the grey ashen road to black. Only a few new items had found their way into the cart, yet it seemed heavier than ever. The clouds were hiding within the iron grey sky, yet their rumbling complaints made it clear, they were threating the man and the boy with rain. For you rain is merely an inconvenience, but for them it was potentially death.

Soon they would have to find shelter for the night within the tall spindly trees. They walked to the side of the road and left the cart hidden within the tree line. They took the tarp, matches and a can of food. With the boys hand in his they continued into the woods. He knew the day was near when he would no longer be able to stand. He knew what he must do. But he didn’t know if he would be able to do it. He remembered his final night with her. They sat facing each other at a plastic table in another abandoned apartment. His eyes were hard to see as they were always squinting, but under the protection of his eyelids remained two grey watery eyes, bloodshot from the ash that continued to seep into them. His jaw was never loose, always clenched and prepared. His lips chapped and peeling. His skin was stretched across his thin face and it was ripped in many places.

You promise me that you won’t leave him alone in this world.

You know I’m not good at keeping those.

Stop it.

I will not be responsible for my own child’s death.

You’re going to have to do it one day.

The cold continued to siege the apartment. At every window a layer of frost had painted itself onto the glass. The white wallpaper was weeping and the naked wall beneath was left vulnerable to the world. The dwindling smell of smoke from the dying fire was the catalyst for his coughing which was merely a tickle at this point; he was unaware of its hidden danger. The boy was lying on his ribs within hearing distance of his parents, faintly smiling as he pushed his toy cars over the costly blue coloured carpet.

The clouds fulfilled their promise and the rain began rinsing the world away. The man and the boy were already cowering under the tarp; holding wearily against the unsettling rain. The only food left was a can of peaches. The can had been beaten around in the cart, what remained was an orange swamp of sweetness. The boy ate first using his bare hands. He thought about the boy and if he knew what to expect, he’s noticed the coughing. Everything still living had noticed his coughing, it was an unfortunate giveaway. He had faced death many times on the road and it took many different forms. But this time it could not be avoided. Without warning the man hauled himself up and began walking at a fast pace away from the boy. He didn’t ask him where he was going, at this point he knew. The sound of splattering rain wasn’t enough to bury the sound of his coughing. With the taste of blood and phlegm fresh in his mouth he returned to the boy.

Papa, it’s your turn.

I want you to have it.

But you haven’t eaten all day.

I’m fine, honestly.

Please Papa.

No.

Once he had finished, the boy crawled over to the man and together they listened to the rain under the protection of the tarp. The wind whispered to the towering tough trees as it spread the cutting cold throughout the woodland. The man made sure that they remained within eyesight of the road. He dragged his stick of an arm over the boy’s chest and felt his breathing. Unintentionally they began to breathe rhythmically and with each breath they prepared for another night of nightmares.

His sleep was disturbed by the sound of laughter coming from the road. The darkness was a blanket of protection, keeping them from sight. The voices were merely a mumble because of the distance between the man and the group. The voices had faded away, yet the man remained awake for a long time. His eyes darted around in the night that was darker than darkness before falling unconscious once more.

They did not wake in the same way that you and I do. There were no birds singing, no burning sunlight. Only bleakness and the fresh cold of morning. He made an attempt to stand but his body was against him, his bones were still frozen from the cold. He remained under the tarp holding the boy within his arms and felt for his breathing once more. Steady and slow. He was still asleep. He stared through the plastic layer judging the grey sky. Another day of rainfall awaited them on the road. He awoke the boy and soon they were up and on the road again. The ash was particularly deep in this area, like the icing on a cake. The cart was requiring him to use energy that he did not possess. Only a couple of homes, burnt to a crisp, remained standing along the road. They began looting them.

They were upstairs in the second home they looted when they saw them through a window. A group of at least ten men were walking along the road, towards the man and the boy. The man’s stomach turned at the sight of him, the man from the beach, the mark on his hand, he had gathered a hunting group. The stench of fear crept into the man. He grabbed the boy’s delicate arms and hauled him down the moaning wooden stairs, making an uncomfortable amount of noise considering their situation. They tried the back door, he twisted the brass door handle but it refused to open and they had no time to search for the key. They tried the window. Locked.

One impossible, burning thought continued to scorch his mind. Today is not that day, is what he told himself. They trampled their way up the stairs, his body was desperate to cough but his mind held control, he tripped on the last step but quickly recovered. They continued along a corridor, the people trapped in the photos that were clinging to the walls watched them worry. A closed door awaited them at the end of the corridor with ash attempting to escape the room from under the door. He didn’t hesitate. He flung the door open and the sudden movement disrupted the bed of ash, it dispersed into the air like a cloud of smoke and searched its way into their lungs. It was a bedroom belonging to a couple; judging by the two burnt, black corpses that were resting on the double bed. They covered their noses to try and protect themselves from the smell of rotten flesh, but nothing could stop it seeping into their nostrils. He scurried to the window and lifted it open. The cold air flooded the room and together they gasped for oxygen.

He hung the boy out of the window, holding him by his hands.

On the count of three.

One, two, three.

He released the boy and he sunk into the ash below. He sat on the window ledge, turned and then hung by his hands. He counted to three in his head and then let his fingers free themselves from the window ledge. First the sensation of falling and then the recognition of landing. Pain shot up from his feet to his hips but nothing was broken.

It’s theirs. I saw them with it. They’re close by.

Nah, I reckon it’s been there for a while.

Why would anyone leave all of their supplies out in the open?

Because they had no other choice but to leave it there.

They got to their feet and fled the house. A large brick wall awaited them. He threw the boy over the wall. He then sunk his fingers into the layer of ash that was built on the top of the wall. He perched himself on the wall and swung his legs over. He heard the shot before he felt the pain, an unimaginable pain that screamed in his head. The descent to the ground was excruciating. He landed on his front, his face sinking into the ash. It stuck to his tongue and tickled his nose. He opened his eyes and saw her lying next to him.

You cannot leave him alone in this world. Death is a gift to you. He hasn’t been offered the same relief from this world.

His energy was weeping from the wound; the blood was warming the icy skin on his back. He pushed up from the ground, and began violently coughing up blood onto the ash. Applying as much pressure as possible to the injured area, he began to walk. The boy tried to help but there was little he could do. They walked for as long as his legs would allow him, their pursuers were taunting them with more gunshots.

I’m going to leave you the same way that you left me. With nothing!

The ground became steep and they did their best to remain steady, but it was impossible. They fell backwards and slid down the hill, their bodies swept the ash from the ground and he left a trail of warm blood behind him. They fell into a heap at the bottom of the hill and they hid under the bank.

Papa, what do we do?

He didn’t reply. His senses were captured by something he hadn’t seen for what felt like a lifetime. He couldn’t remember their name, but a bed of living bright blue flowers stood only a metre from them. The colour was blinding, they shone brighter than the sun in the grey sky.

The boy gazed at the flowers. He crawled towards them as if to feel them. The man raised his gun; it was the heaviest thing he had ever had to lift. His mind was set but his body was resisting. His fingers refused to close around the trigger. The tears refused to stain his cheeks. The boy began to turn around. This was his final chance. He pulled the trigger. The tears fell. The flowers died. The world was grey.


End file.
